Me and My Dad
by Jingle For Goldfish
Summary: Dogs and cats living together. I mean, Ed and Hohenheim living together. Post-anime, pre-movie, many elements from the manga. These two have to figure out how to get along in a world where nothing is what they're used to.
1. Awkward Turtle

_ Well hi, kids! Welcome to my First Ever FullMetal Alchemist Fan Fiction That I've Posted On This Site! The setting is going to take a little background info because it mixes elements from the anime, the movie, and the manga, as well as my own personal interpretation, so, bear with me. Or skip ahead to the good part. I'll never know._

_ I was caught up with the manga and the new series, FMA: Brotherhood (which, if you've never heard of, YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO CHECK OUT because it's sooo much better than the original, both in plot and in technical execution) before I finished the original anime or saw the movie. Because of the vast differences between the anime and the manga, the whole end of the series and the movie felt to me like one big fan fiction that didn't really make a whole lot of sense. I kept going, "But… but… that's not how that works at ALL!"_

_ I did, however, really like the idea of Ed and Hohenheim together in Germany. Maybe because I've felt all along that Amestris was basically supposed to BE Germany? All the blondies running around, and its relative position to Xing/China and Drachma/Russia… I don't know. So I sort of took Ed from around where he is in Brotherhood (or like chapter… I don't know, 90-ish of the manga?) in how he's feeling about his father and plopped him at the end of the original series. It takes place before the movie, technically, so I guess it could be seen as the segue there from the end of the anime? There's a space of, what, about two years we don't hear about? _

_ So we're in pre-Nazi Germany with Brotherhood Ed and Hohenheim, and I'm sort of taking a lot of artistic liberties with the rest of the setting. But, you know what? You'll figure all that out as you go along, and I really despise long-winded A/N intros, so._

_ Damn._

_ Oh, also. My Ed has a pretty dirty mouth, apparently, so… watch out for that, I guess. It's more in-character in the manga… it seems they censored him somewhat for the anime. At least the English dub._

_ ALRIGHT JESUS ENOUGH OF THIS. Read the blip-blarbing story._

_ Gosh._

_

* * *

_

_Chapter 1: Awkward Turtle_

Edward Elric had his hands shoved in the pockets of his long brown overcoat as he gazed around the narrow Munich street, looking like a teenager on the brink of death by boredom. There was a biggish man in front of a door to his right, jiggling a set of keys in the lock. "Damn it," he muttered. "I can never remember which stupid—ah, there we go."

The door swung open. Ed pretended not to notice.

"This is my place," said Hohenheim. "It's not much. Times what they are, and all."

Ed lolled his head to turn disinterested eyes on the man he was supposed to call his father.

Hohenheim coughed. "Um. Come on in."

He disappeared inside, and after a moment, Ed followed him.

"Living room, dining room, kitchen, part-time study," said Hohenheim, gesturing around a single square room equipped with a television, a kitchen set, a table and two chairs, and piles and piles of books. Ed didn't conceal a condescending sneer at the understanding that this man had _one room_ functioning for all his household necessities. "That door's a bathroom. I get about eight minutes of hot water in a morning, so we'll have to be conservative."

He opened a narrow door that led to a narrower, very steep staircase. Ed peered up with some trepidation.

"You can have the loft," said Hohenheim.

"Sloppy seconds, I guess," said Ed.

His father hesitated. "It's much bigger than my room," he said, "and I've been renting it out, so it's fully furnished. There's even a desk and some books up there…"

Ed considered this. He moved around his father to ascend the staircase, which made an awful creaking sound. "Yeesh, got termites or something?"

Despite himself, Ed was pleasantly surprised by the state of the loft. It was full of windows and very bright. A large round rug covered most of the weathered hardwood floor, the bed was neatly made, and a broad desk with a lamp was wedged in the corner beside a tall bookcase overflowing with literature. It was by no means a large room, and when he considered that the alternative would be even smaller, and less private, since it was directly off of the kitchen/study/dining/living room, he had to admit he was probably getting the better end of the deal.

Hohenheim poked his head into the room. "I wouldn't mind trading, if that's what you want," he said. "I just thought—"

"Nah, don't bother," said Ed. "I'll make do."

Hohenheim lingered in the stairwell, as if he expected Ed to follow, but the boy had found the bookcase and was studying some of the titles.

"Well… that's about it for the tour," said Hohenheim. Ed made no sign that he was listening. "I'm going to get started on dinner. I'm afraid there isn't much… uh, you like potatoes?"

"Long as they're edible."

"Right. Well." Hohenheim paused. Ed was leafing through a thick volume. "We can find you some clothes, tomorrow."

No response.

"Well. Um, make yourself at home. I'll be downstairs, if you uh… if you need anything."

After what felt to Ed like an eternity, the old man left the room. He peeked up to see if he was really gone, and then he shelved the book and flopped onto the bed. Comfortable enough, he had to admit. Finally free of the nagging, over-compensating parent figure, Ed had some time to himself to think. He stared at the slanting ceiling. The apartment felt constricting. There was a whole world out there, and beyond that, another world. _His_ world.

Al's world.

Even with alchemy, it would be difficult to re-open the gate. Now he had to find a way without it. How could he do that? How could he even _begin_? Without alchemy, this world's science had to be based on principles completely different from anything he'd ever known to be true.

It hurt too much to think right now. Ed shut his eyes. He had been on his feet since the night before, and he desperately needed a rest. Anyway, it was easier to sleep.

A gentle hand shook him awake. He opened his eyes to the figure of Hohenheim looming over his bed.

"Gah! What do you want?" Ed shrank back as if he feared Hohenheim carried an electrical charge.

"Sorry," said Hohenheim. "I knocked, but you were out cold. I just wanted to see if you were hungry."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," said Ed, shooing his father away.

"Alright, it's on the table whenever you're ready."

Ed purposefully delayed himself a full five minutes before heading downstairs. The living space smelled… well, like food. It wasn't a _bad_ smell, but there was no trace of any kind of seasoning—only meat and the watery scent of vegetables. Ed resisted wrinkling his nose as he sat down. There was a single fat sausage alongside a heap of red potatoes on his plate.

"Sorry it isn't much," said Hohenheim. "I'm afraid my cooking skills are rather limited, and I'm on my last of everything. We can stop at the market tomorrow. What do you like to eat?"

Ed shrugged.

They started eating and continued for awhile without any further attempt at conversation. Although Ed was reasonably hungry, he made an effort to do no more than pick at the bland meal.

Hohenheim had finished in about ten minutes, at which point he broke the silence. "Are you familiar with the phrase, _There's an elephant in the room_?"

Ed looked up. "What is that, some kind of code?"

"It means there's an uncomfortable topic we're avoiding," said Hohenheim. He took a deep breath. "I think we need to talk."

Ed grew suddenly closed. He went back to his potatoes. "Bout what?" he muttered.

"You know about what. There's something you want to ask me."

"Nothing springs to mind."

Hohenheim studied his son, who was pushing his food around with his fork. "You want to know why I left."

Ed felt a wave of cold rush over him. In response, he shrugged one shoulder up and down.

Hohenheim sighed. "I wish I had a good reason to give you," he said, taking Ed's silence as a signal to continue, "but, in all honesty, there isn't one. You know what I am. The thought of watching my family grow old around me while I stayed like this was terrifying to me. I had a moment of weakness."

"A thirteen-year moment of weakness," said Ed.

"I know. All I can say is that I'm sorry."

The table was silent for several minutes. Neither touched his food.

"The thing that really kills me," said Ed in a quiet voice, "is that you didn't come back. We wrote you _so_ many times, but—"

"I never got your letters," said Hohenheim, and Ed raised his head slightly. "I was moving around, and I never told anyone where I went. It wasn't until I returned to Brynna for the second time, and a friend there had received several letters from you, that I had any idea you were trying to contact me."

"And then you went back to Resembool?"

"I wrote to you," he said. "And to Pinako. She responded, saying you had gone. Training to be alchemists. And that Trisha…" He stopped himself, unable to say it. "Well, how could I face you, after that?"

Ed glared at the table. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he murmured. "You've got to be kidding me. After all that… the truth is, you're just a big fucking coward?"

Hohenheim had nothing to say. After a moment, Ed got up from the table, leaving his half-eaten dinner on the plate, and went upstairs. Hohenheim put a hand to his head.

"Yeah," he said to himself. "I guess I am."

* * *

_P.S. "Brynna" is not an FMA-canon city. Actually, if you know what it IS from, then you are my hero and props to you. (It's not really that cryptic; it just means we have another common interest.)_


	2. Another Way to Skin the Cat

_ Can it be? It is! Chapter Two! And you thought I was gone forever._

_ I have most of Chapter Three written, as well—I was just having some difficulties transitioning there from Chapter One. Hooray, transition chapters!_

_ Enjoy._

_

* * *

_

Ed was fighting a losing battle with the ticking clock on the wall across the room. He narrowed his eyes. _Stop… moving…_ he thought at it.

_Tick._

_ Tick._

_ Tick._

In a few seconds, it would be ten o' clock, and Ed could really not justify staying in bed any longer than that. He'd been lying here for almost two hours already, the limbs he had left were falling asleep, and his protesting stomach was giving him a headache.

But the last thing he felt like doing right now was going downstairs.

_Ba-gonnnnng_, said the clock.

"Fuck you," said Ed.

He wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his temple.

"Good morning," said Hohenheim with a wide smile. He had something sizzling on the stove. "You like bacon? I decided to run to the market this morning, before you got up. There are eggs, too, and some vegetables to throw into an omelet, if that's what you'd like. Mushrooms, peppers, onions, and two kinds of cheese, although I guess that's not a vegetable, is it? Ha ha. I may be no chef, but I do make a mean omelet. Oh, and there's coffee on the stove. Do you drink coffee? Boy your age shouldn't have to, but from what Pinako's told me, you are nothing like a boy your age, so I made extra. I bought some sausages, too, if you prefer those to bacon. And there's fish for dinner—do you like fish? Some people hate it… I myself can't get enough. Thought it might run in the family. So, what do you say? Omelet?"

Ed stared at him. "Wh… uh… what?"

"Ah ha, still waking up, are you? Alright, well, have a seat. I'll get you that coffee. You look like you could use it."

Too tired to argue, Ed sat at the table, holding his head. "What's got you in such a chipper mood?"

"Ah, you know. The sun. It's a _beautiful_ day out, today. I love Sundays. They're so peaceful. And I don't have to work, which of course makes everything better. What did you want in your omelet?"

"I don't care. Whatever."

"Á la Hohenheim, then. Perfect." He set a mug of steaming black coffee in front of his son. "I have sugar, but I forgot to get milk… I don't drink it, myself, and it never even occurred to me that you might."

"Black is fine," said Ed curtly.

"Good, good." Hohenheim turned back to the stove, and Ed hoped that was the end of their conversation.

No such luck.

"So what are your plans for the day?" said Hohenheim.

"Plans?"

"I was thinking we tackle your wardrobe after breakfast, and we can get lunch in the plaza, and then I thought I could show you the library, if you want. I don't know if you have a research plan, but I'd be more than happy to help with that. I have notes, and I do teach physics, I might be of some—"

Ed slammed down the mug. "_I don't want your help."_

His father paused. "Edward, you know, if you want to get back to Amestris, you're going to need to be well versed in _this_ world's science. You need to find a way to do it without alchemy."

"You don't think I've figured that out by now?" snapped Ed. "Jeez, old man, what do I look like to you?"

"A spoiled kid who's letting his pride interfere with his goals."

"_Hey_—!"

"I'm serious, Ed. You may not think much of me, and maybe you have that right. But you can't overlook the fact that I have invaluable experience in this world and the way it works. I think you ought to figure out what exactly it is that you want, and then do just what you need to do to achieve that."

"I know what I want," said Ed.

"Then let me—"

"I _don't—want—your help._"

Hohenheim flipped the omelet onto a plate, added a couple pieces of bacon, and set it in front of his son. "Alright," he said in a neutral voice. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

"Unfortunately."

Hohenheim headed for his own room. "If you want to go shopping, be ready to leave in twenty minutes," he added over his shoulder, "or you're going to be wearing those clothes for a very long time."

* * *

Hohenheim insisted they take the tram—to get him "accustomed to city transportation." It smelled like an old car and damp wood, and Ed spent most of the five-minute ride with his head hanging out the window. He would have preferred to walk, even if it meant twenty minutes of pretending he had nothing to do with the man he appeared to be following. This bizarre street-sized train with its weird smells and its jerky motions was going to make him hurl. Still, he couldn't deny that he was without a single penny to his name, and so no matter how he despised the man, he really had no choice but to humor him for now.

It didn't mean he had to be _happy_ about it, though.

"You pull one of these cords before you want to get off," said Hohenheim, demonstrating. A bell dinged up front, and the tram slowed. Ed raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment but was otherwise unresponsive.

The streetcar screeched to a stop, and Ed followed Hohenheim off. They were in a broad, round plaza lined with all kinds of shops and cafés. In the center was a statue of a seated man, one hand raised in greeting. In spite of himself, Ed couldn't stop his head from swiveling around to try to take in as much as possible. It was just like any big city in Amestris, only… only _different._ The smells, the sights, the sounds—it was all familiar, but it was new just the same.

He nearly crashed into Hohenheim, who had stopped.

"Here," said Hohenheim. He pulled out his wallet. "I'm assuming you won't need help with anything…?"

Ed reached out a tentative hand. "How much do you want me to spend?"

His father shrugged. "Whatever's necessary. Get yourself a few shirts, two or three pairs of slacks, maybe a new overcoat… Whatever you need."

Ed was reluctant to take the wallet. "I don't want your money," he said. "I can't pay you back, and I don't feel like starting off my 'new life' in debt."

Hohenheim pushed the wallet into the boy's hands. "Nonsense," he said. "No debt. I'm your father. That's my job."

Ed felt his face get hot. "Fine," he said shortly, and he turned to march into the store.

"I'll meet you back here in an hour!" said Hohenheim.

Ed muttered to himself as he stuffed the wallet in his pocket. "Stupid old man. I should just blow all his money. That'd show him."

Hohenheim watched Edward storm into the shop. His smile faded, and he sighed to himself. Things were going to be even more difficult than he had imagined. He thrust his hands into his pockets and strolled down the street.

After a few minutes, he came to a narrow townhouse, number seventy-two. He knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open. "Hello?" he called. "It's me."

From the next room, a familiar voice replied. "Hohenheim? Come on in."

Hohenheim shut the door behind him and followed the voice into the kitchen. She was at the table with an open book and her smoking pipe, and Hohenheim smiled to see her. She looked up as he entered.

"So? Is it working?" It still made him shiver to think that the short, gray-haired twin of this woman was alive, running around in a completely different world. This Pinako, of course, didn't have all the memories of the old one, but she had come to be quite a good friend to Hohenheim.

He shrugged at her question. "Hard to tell," he said. "I've been trying to act nice, like you said, all day. It seemed to startle him. He at least agreed to let me take him shopping. I don't think he knows quite what to make of me, yet."

Pinako chuckled. "Give him time," she said. "A boy needs his father as much as you need him."

Hohenheim sat opposite her at the table and put his head in his hands. "I did a terrible thing to him, Pinako," he said. "How can I ever ask him to forgive me for that?"

She sucked on the end of her pipe and blew out a slow stream of smoke. "You can't," she said. "But he'll forgive you, just the same."

"How do you know?"

"I know," she said. "But you can't force it. When he's ready, he'll come to you."

* * *

Ed emerged from the shop an hour and a half later. Hohenheim was waiting for him. He held a heavy-looking box between his arms, which Ed regarded with no more than a mild curiosity.

"How'd you make out?" said Hohenheim, as lightly as if he were probing a ticking time bomb.

Ed clutched the bulky parcel of clothes to his side. "Fine."

"Good." They started back toward the apartment.

"Oh, uh. Here's your wallet back."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Thank you, I guess."

"Don't mention it."

They didn't speak again for the duration of their walk. Hohenheim let them in, and Ed went straight to his room to unload his purchases. There wasn't much variety, but at least he could dress himself, now.

As he was hanging a shirt, Hohenheim came upstairs. He set the box he'd been carrying at the head of the staircase. "You don't have to use this," he said, "but it's here if you want it. A man in my department was dabbling in alternate universe theory for a short time, but he gave it up awhile ago. These are his notes on the topic. I can't say how accurate they are, but it might be a place to start."

Ed made no sign that he had even heard the man enter. After a moment, Hohenheim sighed to himself and went back downstairs, leaving the box.

Later that night, though, there was a light spilling out from the loft long after the rest of the neighborhood had gone dark. Hohenheim could only cross his fingers, but it seemed like a good enough sign to him.


	3. In a Nutshell

_Oh hey there. Remember me? That jerk that never updates? Well I'll have you know that this is a whole new brand new chapter! I updated! Wha-BAM!_

_I'm trying this new thing where I update sometimes. As opposed to never. So if anyone out there is still reading this, THANK YOU, please enjoy this latest installment, and I apologize for my jerkiness. There'll be a Chapter 4 up at some point during my (and hopefully your) lifetime. Cross my heart._

* * *

_Chapter 3: In a Nutshell_

Over the next couple of weeks, Hohenheim did his best to leave Ed alone, hoping to give the boy a chance to acclimate to his new surroundings without tripping his temper over some trivial matter.

It turned out to be easier than he'd expected. Hohenheim was at the university all day, and Ed spent most of his time shut away in his room, poring over books. Hohenheim showed him how to use the temperamental stove and where all the food was in the house, and he encouraged him to eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

He had been adamant on this point, insisting that this was Edward's home now and assuring him he shouldn't feel like a stranger. Still, when he came home at the end of the day, there always seemed to be the same plate and mug he himself had used at breakfast, and he didn't detect any kind of depletion of the food stores in the fridge. Unless Ed was hitting the market on his own and hoarding the dishes in his room, neither of which Hohenheim found very likely, he wasn't eating.

Hohenheim's suspicions were confirmed when the kid started studying through dinner, too. When Hohenheim knocked on his door one night and received, for the third time that week, a staunch refusal to answer, he set his jaw and let himself in.

It was the first time he'd been in Ed's room since the day he'd arrived, and Hohenheim noted that there had been some significant alterations in the decorating. There were sketches hung all over the walls; labeled diagrams, alchemy circles posted next to similar-looking drawings, things circled in red, stars, arrows, question marks. And the floor was absolutely covered in books. Even walking up the narrow staircase meant picking his way through literature to avoid twisting an ankle.

"What do you want?"

Hohenheim peered across the room, dim in the evening twilight. Ed was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, surrounded by a ring of open books. His pen hovered over the text in one of them. His head was bowed, his face turned away.

"You're not writing in my books, are you?" said Hohenheim with a grin.

Ed ignored him.

"Edward," said Hohenheim. The grin faded. "This is the third night in a row you're skipping dinner."

"Not hungry," said Ed.

"Have you eaten at all today?"

Ed shrugged.

"Edward, you know, I'm starting to get worried," said Hohenheim. "I haven't seen you leave this house in weeks. You barely even leave your _room_ except to—"

"Do you have a point?" said Ed. He looked up from his book, and the soft light from the window hit his face. Hohenheim was taken aback by his appearance. He was the same, sullen teenager, annoyed at being interrupted, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was almost devoid of color. His braid was unraveling in several places, and the matted, brown look of it suggested to Hohenheim that it hadn't been brushed, let alone washed, in quite some time. Hohenheim had to brace himself against the railing. The kid looked on the verge of death.

"Yes," said Hohenheim. "Yes, I do have a point. Get up. We're going out to eat."

Ed only stared at him.

"Get up," Hohenheim said again. "You're not eating. You're not sleeping. From the look of things, you're not bathing."

Edward scowled. "I don't have time to—"

"You aren't helping anyone by treating yourself this way, Edward," said Hohenheim. "This is unhealthy. You need to take better care of yourself. Come downstairs and wash up. We're going out."

Ed turned back to his book. "Go away, old man."

"I'm not going to sit by and watch you work yourself to death," said Hohenheim. "You need to get out of this house, and you need to eat something."

"Hohenheim, go away," said Ed. "I'm fine."

"You are _not_ fine."

"Yes, I—"

_"Edward."_ Hohenheim's voice rose sharply. Ed raised his eyebrows. "You can study all you want, but if you don't take care of your body, there won't be any of you left to act on your findings."

Ed only looked at him.

"I want you out of this room and in the shower in the next five minutes, or so help me, I'll put you there myself!"

Hohenheim stomped down the stairs and slammed the door behind him. It took a couple of seconds for his thoughts to catch up to him. When they did, he found himself surprised. Where had that outburst come from? He didn't normally lose his temper like that.

He looked at the door behind him and pictured himself dragging a kicking and screaming Ed into the bathroom, holding his head under the water, washing out the grime. It wasn't something he could really see himself doing, and anyway, when had brute force ever convinced Ed of anything? If the kid wanted to starve himself to death, he was damn well going to do it, and there wasn't much Hohenheim could do to stop him.

Four minutes later, Hohenheim was thinking he should just bring up a plate of sausages and leave it at that when, to his great surprise, the door to Ed's room swung open. Hohenheim looked up. Ed was glowering. He held a white towel and a set of clothes bunched under one arm, and he didn't look at Hohenheim as he made for the bathroom.

Hohenheim's lip twitched in the direction of a smile. "Be quick," he said. "We're leaving in ten."

Edward grumbled something that sounded like, "Crotchety old man," before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Hohenheim to revel in his small victory.

* * *

"Not that you ever leave the house, anyway," said Hohenheim some time later, "but you want to be careful if you find yourself riding the tram at night."

Ed stared out the window of the bouncing streetcar, trying to ignore him.

"The city is pretty safe, in general, but after dark, there aren't as many witnesses around, you know?"

"I'll try not to get chopped up," muttered Ed.

"That's all I ask."

The restaurant they landed at was a small café in the city square. Hohenheim ordered a gigantic plate of meat and potatoes for Ed, which he eyed sullenly until he admitted to himself that he was, maybe, just a little bit hungry, and he scarfed down the whole thing. He took a cup of coffee, too, when it was offered, and he managed to ignore the funny little smiles Hohenheim kept shooting in his direction. When they got up from the table, Ed stifled a burp, but it didn't go unnoticed.

"Feeling better?" said Hohenheim.

"Shut up," said Ed.

When they got back to the flat, a rotund, elderly woman was leaving the house next door. Hohenheim cursed under his breath, but he smiled as they approached and raised a hand in greeting. "Evening, Frau Schweitzer!"

Her eyes were black and beady, embedded in folds of wrinkles. She blinked several times and turned her head slowly to face them. "Herr Von Hohenheim." Her eyes landed on Ed, and the gaze made him feel queasy. "Who's that?"

"Sheesh, friendly old crone, ain't she?" muttered Ed.

Frau Schweitzer's eyes narrowed in a very disconcerting way. Ed shrank back.

"Ah, Frau Schweitzer, this is my son, Edward," said Hohenheim.

"Your son?"

"Yes," said Hohenheim. "Isn't that right, Ed?"

Ed grimaced. "Sure thing, _Hohenheim_."

Frau Schweitzer raised her eyebrows. Hohenheim sighed.

"How old is he?" said Frau Schweitzer.

"I'm sixteen," said Ed.

She turned the beady eyes on him, as if appalled he had addressed her directly. She looked him up and down. "Hmph," she said. "Gloves, in this weather?"

Ed pulled self-consciously at the glove on his right hand, nervous she might look too closely and catch a glimpse of steel. If there was one thing he and Hohenheim agreed on, it was that the gloves were necessary. This world didn't have anything like auto-mail, and the sight of a kid with a metallic arm and leg was likely to seriously freak people out. "They're in style," he said, improvising. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, old lady?"

Frau Schweitzer _hmphed_ again. She turned back to Hohenheim. "Impertinent. But it does not surprise me."

Ed showed his teeth. Hohenheim put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You never mentioned a son," she added.

"He has been in America," said Hohenheim. "With his mother."

Ed shot him a filthy look.

"America?" said Frau Schweitzer. "And he is staying with you… for how long?"

"Well…" Hohenheim hesitated. "Until further notice, actually. I intended to tell you—"

"You pay rent for one person," said Frau Schweitzer. "Now there are two people, you pay double."

"He takes up hardly any room," said Hohenheim (Ed bristled at the dangerously close reference to his height). "He doesn't use any more water than me, we're conserving the electricity—"

"One person," said Frau Schweitzer, holding up her index finger, "single rent." She raised a second finger. "Two people, double. He has been squatting here for long?"

"Ah—"

"I will talk to the neighbors. You will pay me what you owe for him." She jabbed a gnarled thumb in Ed's direction. "Good day, Herr Hohenheim."

They watched her hobble off over the cobblestones. Hohenheim sighed as he jiggled the lock in the door. "Backwards old bat," he muttered. He looked at Ed. "And would it kill you to call me 'Dad' when we're in public?"

"Possibly."

"We are trying to maintain an image."

Ed rolled his eyes. He headed for the stairs to his room, but Hohenheim said, "Why don't you put on a pot of water? There's something I want to talk to you about."

Ed heaved a sigh. "Look," he said. "Thanks for dinner, and whatever. But I really need to get back to work."

Hohenheim extracted a large brown envelope from a pile of mail on the counter. "This came for you, today." He dropped it on the table.

Ed gave Hohenheim a narrow-eyed look. "Who's sending me mail?"

Hohenheim shrugged. His expression was neutral.

Ed picked up the envelope. "The Heissen-Franck Institute," he read. Puzzled, he flipped it over, as if he might find more information on the reverse. The envelope was sealed with a blob of thick scarlet wax stamped with an elaborate seal. "Who are these guys?"

"One of the most elite secondary schools in the country," said Hohenheim brightly. "I had to pull a few strings, but in the end, they realized it would be unthinkable to turn down the son of such a brilliant and well respected professor as myself." He smiled. "Even if he will be entering a couple of years late."

"Secondary… hang on a second," said Ed, his eyes wide. "What the hell did you do?"

"I took the liberty of enrolling you, myself," said Hohenheim, "although I couldn't get you out of the entrance examinations—the headmaster was quite adamant about that. They have generously agreed to hold the exams especially for you, so you can start in a couple weeks with your peers."

"I'm not taking any entrance examinations," Ed said flatly.

"They won't admit you otherwise—"

"I've already _been_ to school!" said Ed. "Why the hell would I want to go _again_?"

"The children here are required to attend school until they are in their late teens," said Hohenheim.

"I _am_ in my late teens."

"You are in your mid teens at best, and the class you will be joining graduates in three years."

"I'm not going," said Ed. "This is ridiculous. I've been educated. I studied for years with Izumi! I'm a _state-certified alchemist_!"

"Which, as we have discussed previously, means absolutely nothing," said Hohenheim. "You have a scientific mind, but you know little about _this_ world's science. And, as you've only ever studied alchemy, your knowledge in the area of, say, the humanities is no doubt seriously lacking."

"So what? Humanities have nothing to do with science."

"Maybe not," said Hohenheim. "But they will be useful in your application to the university."

"What do I care about the stupid _university_?" Ed seethed. "If this is some ploy to get me to follow in your footsteps or something sick like that, you can forget it. I am _not_ going to resign myself to be a friggin _teacher_."

"I appreciate your regard for my line of work," said Hohenheim. "And that choice is, of course, entirely up to you; however, as an esteemed professor, you would have access to all kinds of scientific documents the average citizen is never allowed to see. It's somewhat like being a state alchemist, actually," he added with a twisted smile, "with none of the dangerous drawbacks."

Ed pursed his lips.

"I would offer to help with your research, myself," said Hohenheim lightly, "but I don't want to step on your toes."

"So maybe I apply to the university," said Ed, "but why does that mean I have to put up with _secondary_ school? Arts and literature have nothing to do with my research, and I have enough of a background in science and mathematics to put together a respectable application."

"That may be true," said Hohenheim, "but you are still forgetting one very important factor."

"And what's that?"

He smiled. "You have no money, no discernable workforce skills, and nowhere else to go. I have generously welcomed you into my home at no charge, but now that the landlady knows you're here, my rent is going to double. I'm buying twice the food, now, as well, and while the position of professor may be _respected_, it is by no means a gold mine. This is all fine, and you are still more than welcome—but if you're going to be staying for free, it means you play by my rules. And one of those rules means attending the educational institute _required by law_ for all young men your age."

Ed felt his cheeks prick with color. "Are you saying you're gonna _make_ me go?"

"Frankly," said Hohenheim, "yes. You may not believe me, but you need at least a secondary education to get by in this world."

"So that I can go to university?"

"If you choose," said Hohenheim, "or merely to obtain some kind of work to fund your own research. Although, speaking from experience, the university is probably your best bet."

Ed examined at the brown envelope. It was heavy for its size. The stamp in the sealing wax portrayed a fierce-looking boar, snout turned upward, one eye leering out from the blood-colored wax. What a foreboding image. Ed took a deep breath. "What if I get into the university this year?"

Hohenheim shrugged. "Then you don't have to go to the Institute," he said. "Until then, though, I think you'd better attend, just to be on the safe side."

Ed fought with himself briefly. In the end, reason won out. Hohenheim was right. He did need to focus on his goals. If going along with secondary school was the way to do that, then… so be it.


End file.
